In Harenarius Somnii
by Fading wind
Summary: Edward Elric dreams of water and sand. Gen fic about the Elric family, slightly angsty. Written for the fullservicefma comm on LJ.


Title: In Harenarius Somnii (Latin: In Sandy Dreams)  
Pairing: No pairing. Gen.  
Rating: G (PG, maybe?)  
Beta: Reject from the back of the bus.  
Spoilers: For movie.  
Warnings: None.  
Word count: 1499  
Disclaimer: Why would I be writing fanfics if I actually owned FMA?  
Author's Notes: Written for the June fanfiction contest on fullservicefma (LJ). The prompt was 'beach'. My first gen fic. Pairing-free. D

**In Harenarius Somnii**

When Edward was younger, he had fantasies about the ocean and the coast. Amestris was a land-locked country, so Edward never got to really visit the place of his fantasies. All the more reason for him to dream. Sometimes, he read books other than alchemy textbooks, and usually, those books involved water and sand in some way or another.

Edward's dreams at night were often the same. He would be walking along the beach with his little brother and his loving mother. It was always the afternoon; the sun hung high up in the clear blue sky, beaming its heat and light and warming the family's hearts. The beach was filled with other people, and _laughter_. Edward would always remember the laughter. When he woke up, it rang in his ears with amazing clarity, bringing all its joy and mirth from dream to reality, and brightening a six-year-old's day.

Those dreams were simple and innocent, just like his mind had been then. There was not much detail in them. Edward could only vaguely remember an endless mixture of green and blue, and a stretch of golden land. The focus of those dreams was always his family. His dear little brother rolling around in the sand with him, building castles and citadels, and getting soaked by the waves, and his mother smiling, bemused, at their childish antics. There was one person missing from that family, but Edward did not care. That person was unimportant. That person did not deserve to belong in that family, because he had chosen to abandon it himself.

That was what Edward Elric believed when he was still a child.

When his mother died, fading away in wishes of alchemized flowers on a windy night, his dreams stopped for a long time. Perhaps he was too afraid. Afraid that even in his dreams, the person dearest to him would not be there to share happiness with him. Afraid that she was truly gone, and the petals of the flowers blown away and scattered by the breeze, never to be found again.

Four years later, stranded on a large island for a month somewhere in the middle of a lake, Edward finally got the chance to experience that place of his dreams. Yes, it was a much smaller beach, and it was not a coastal one, but it was something similar. It was sand and water, at the very least. His mother was not there, which was a regretful thing, but his brother was. He was grateful for what he had, and he made the most of his time there.

After a rainy night filled with blinding yellow light and vivid darkness made of purple and red and forbidden hopes, his dreams came back. Edward thought that the reason for their return was because he had finally let go of his false reality and accepted the fact of his mother's death. Yes, she was gone, and there was nothing that could bring her back.

The dreams were different. They no longer took place in the early afternoon, but later, at dusk, when the sun was setting in the far west, dyeing the water to a bloody crimson. The beach was alarmingly void of people, apart from himself and Alphonse in his armour. Just the two of them, treading the golden sand beneath their feet quietly. There was no sound at all; the silence was unsettling compared to all the noises of people and laughter from the dreams before. The colours were all burning red and orange and gold, fiery colours of determination that dazzled his sight.

In those dreams, Edward often turned back to look at the footprints he and his brother had left. Alphonse's footprints were enormous, and made a deep impression on the soft sand, while Edward's, compared to them, were insignificant and small. They were so shallow that it seemed as if the weakest wisp of wind would make them disappear forever.

For years those dreams continued. When Edward was not plagued by nightmares of shape-shifting figures and long, sharp fingernails waiting to spill blood, those dreams would come to him in his sleep. He was grateful for them, unnerving as they were at times, for anything was better than waking up with in shock, dripping with cold sweat and panting from chasing imaginary enemies away.

The dreams changed again during Edward's time in the other world, spent with Alfons Heiderich, an almost ghostly illusion of his brother. The sun was long gone; it was late at night, when the moons and stars were all out, littered across the dark heavens, each glimmering weakly, but lighting up the whole sky with their combined efforts. And now, the beach was empty. He was the only one travelling across the sand, a seemingly grey colour under the night sky. But instead of disturbance, he felt a strange serenity from his solitude. He looked out to the sea, a pitch black abyss of ink. The tip of the rippling waves would sparkle under the white moonlight occasionally, and that was breathtakingly beautiful when it occurred, a bright gleam that shone and caught the eye with its glamour.

Edward discovered that being alone was much less frightening than he had feared. At least not there, not there on the beach, because on his own, feeling the sand sink slightly under his weight, and hearing the gentle lapping of the water against the shore, he felt much safer than he had been for a long time. The beach was his personal haven, a creation of his subconscious mind only, but a haven nonetheless. It was better than the melancholic dreams of homeland, of Al and Winry and everything that he missed so bitterly.

His father's death crashed on him with surprising heaviness, shattering the belief that Edward had grown up with.

Hohenheim had been an outcast from Edward's family, Edward's life. Edward had always blamed and resented his father for the bad memories he had inflicted upon what should have been a happy, normal childhood. But Alphonse, always the kinder, nicer brother of the two, had managed to accept and forgive, and let the man be as much of a father as he could to his younger son. Edward was not a person of that nature, and he could not easily forget the pain on his mother's beautiful face, not even when his father claimed that he loved Trisha more than words could describe. Because, to Edward, no one would ever hurt someone they loved so much.

But now, Edward watched the blood of his father rain down upon him, and realized that he had always belonged in the family. Edward was the only one who refused to see him as part of it, and continued rejecting him even when he had apologized and explained why he had left his wife and kids in the shadows for so many years, without a word.

Hohenheim had finally proven his devotion to the family to Edward, by giving his life to contribute towards Edward's dream of being reunited with his brother once more. With his help, that dream came true, but only after more bloodshed and more stolen lives. When Edward looked back, he felt guilty, like a murderer. All those sacrifices, just for two brothers' happiness. It was not worth it. But he couldn't help but admit that he was glad, extremely glad, to see his brother again.

In his nighttime dreams, the whole family was together again on the otherwise deserted beach, even Hohenheim. Al and Ed sat at the edge of the shore, wiggling their toes in the cool seawater, laughing at the tickling sensation. Edward watched his parents out of the corner of his eye. They were lying close to each other further up the beach, away from the water, sipping icy lemonade. He noticed with a warm delight that their hands were clasped in each others', fingers entwined in a promise of eternity, smiling sweetly at each other.

The sea was an alluring emerald green, the waves tipped with silver foam. In a constant rhythm, the waters swept ceaselessly, forming a calm, slow, and lulling melody, and Edward liked to imagine it reaching beyond the known universe, to a kingdom far, far away. Al commented on how the sand was exactly the same colour as Edward's hair and eyes, and it was. The land, which extended further than one's vision, was a rich colour of honey.

In the east, the sun was climbing up steadily, peeling the blackness away, and painting the skies in pale shades of pink, violet, and yellow. The colours gradually turned from soft pastels to more intense glares as the sun ascended, showering the land in new life and glory.

Edward made a decision when he rose from his dream one morning to see the same sight of dawn greet his eyes in real life.

"I'll bring you to the beach some day, Al," he said firmly.

**The End**


End file.
